In Support of the MARCH FOR SCIENCE

by Joe Buonfiglio

I’m going to be taking a couple weeks off from my absurdist blog, Potpourri of the Damned, to work on my post-Apocalyptic absurdist book (in which I am woefully behind at the moment). However, as I go on my blog-posting hiatus in order to dive into this literary endeavor, I’d like to leave you with this thought:

After reading an Associated Press report that the Arctic sea ice has hit a record low for winter (http://www.apnewsarchive.com/2017/Even-during-winter-Arctic-sets-a-record-for-low-sea-ice-level/id-4b7f43b7a1624db8b13738c8b3d5383b), I want to continue enthusiastically rallying support for the April 22 Earth DayMarch for Science 2017.” In a nutshell, Global Climate Change science deniers such as Donald Trump and his ilk must be stopped before they send humanity beyond the point of no return.

Here are some links where you can learn more:

https://www.marchforscience.com/ to find a march in your local area and sign up for updates.

Go to Twitter, Facebook, and Google+ with the hashtag #marchforscience.

Follow great advocates of science such as astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson on Twitter at @neiltyson and Bill Nye “the science guy” on Twitter at @BillNye.

As for me, I’ll be looking for a march in my local area, as well as getting the word out via various creative projects. For example, I’m a lyricist for a wonderful UK band called Unintentional Martyrs™ featuring musician, composer and performer, Paul Austin Kelly. Here’s the group’s song Science Denier now posted on my YouTube channel:

So join the pro-science movement; let Trump and all the science deniers out there know that science is NOT just some political pawn the denial of which to be used to pander to an ignorant base. This is critically important work on which the survival of the human race itself is dependent.

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.
All music and music videos © 2016-2017 Unintentional Martyrs™ with All Rights Reserved.

Tryin’ to Catch Me Dietin’ Dirty

(with apologies to Chamillionaire)

by Joe Buonfiglio

The blue-and-red rollers in my rearview mirror left me with no doubt; the PoPo were trying to catch me dietin’ dirty.

COP: “License and registration.”

FAT JOE (Uh, that’s “ME.”): “Sure, officer. Did I do something wrong?”

COP: “License and registration.”

I tentatively hand the deeply tinted-bespectacled representative of North Carolinian law enforcement the requested documents. This was no American version of the serious, yet genteel French gendarme. This bear of a man would just as soon see me dare to resist his Carolina mountain-bred charms unto the inevitable hellish consequence.

ME: “Yes, officer. Here you go, sir.”

He viewed the state-issued papers for so long, it seemed as if time was being rendered a mere illusion.

ME: “Is there something wrong officer?”

He peered into my car, grimaced, and then handed me my vehicular-oriented documents.

COP: “Step out of the car.”

ME: “What? Why?”

COP: “Step out of the car, sir. NOW!”

Was it that cold? Why could I not stop shivering as I complied with his much-more-than-a request.

COP: “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

ME: “Was I speeding? I may have been a little, but it couldn’t have been more than 5 miles per hour over the limit. Isn’t there like some kind of grace zone of at least 5 miles an—”

COP: “Do you know you damn near killed a family of five back there?”

ME: “What?! How?”

COP: “Stay there.”

The police officer walked back to his car and removed four bloodstained family-sized bags of cool ranch Doritos from its backseat.

COP: “These flew out of your rear window a few miles back.”

ME: “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I’m usually much more careful not to litter. If there is any associated fine, I will of course be happy to—”

COP: “They flew into the windshield of the minivan behind you.”

ME: “There was a minivan behind me? I had no idea there—”

COP: “Which completely obscured the driver’s vision.”

ME: “Oh boy. Look, I am so sor—”

COP: “The car full of kids went careening off the road.”

ME: “That’s terrible! Is everybody all ri—”

COP: “Breaking through the guardrail and plummeting down the mountainside.”

ME: “Well that’s not— That’s not good.”

The cop leaned in and looked into my car. It revealed itself to be a massive trash pile of chips’ bags, candy wrappers, empty soda cans, ice cream sticks and various forms of fast-food residue and leftover dietary carnage.

ME: “I get hungry.”

The cop scowled.

ME: “I’m on a REALLY strict diet and I just, well, snapped.”

The cop’s eyebrows bent downward in anger to the point that it looked as if they’d pop his nose right off his face.

ME: “You know how it is when you’re on a long road-trip. It doesn’t matter how good you’ve been on your diet; it becomes snacking warfare. All bets are off. It’s permission to chow down nonstop, because around each turn is a burger haven of comestible delight. Each gas stop offers up sweet—”

I’m not sure if it was an actual nightstick he slapped me with or just a heavy-duty flashlight. Regardless, I woke up with my car probably somewhere in Georgia on a used car lot with its VIN number filed off and me in a dank cell with no hope of ever even seeing a bail bondsman, let alone the light of day.

They had caught me dietin’ dirty and my penance was to become the cellmate of a somewhat aggressively flirtatious mountain of a drunk named “Homer.” With absolute certainty, I will not enjoy the odyssey on which he now wants to take me.

In retrospect, perhaps using my one phone call to order pizza delivery was not a smart move.

 

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio   All Rights Reserved.

A Day Without Absurdist Humor

One Man’s (Lame?) Attempt to Support Women
YOU GO, SISTERS!

by Joe Buonfiglio

At the time of this writing, it is International Women’s Day 2017. And in recognition of the coinciding strikes, walkouts, closings and Anti-Trump demonstrations labelled “A Day Without a Woman,” in solidarity with the sisters-in-womanhood protests here in America, I will be shutting down my Absurdist-humor literary efforts normally scheduled for release on Wednesdays. Thus, there will be no Potpourri of the Damned blog-post being released today or this week in an effort to show my support.

You know.

Other than this Potpourri of the Damned blog-post announcing that there will be no Potpourri of the Damned blog-post being … well … posted.

Wait.

Did I just inadvertently release an Absurdist-humor blog-post by announcing I would not be releasing an Absurdist-humor blog-post?

Damn.

Anyway, no more writing today.

Now, am I truly being socially conscious or just a lazy sack of shit? I guess that depends on which “fact vs. alternative fact” side of the political spectrum you call home. Either way, you go, sisters! Give ’em hell!

 

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.

The Meat We Eat

by Joe Buonfiglio

Well, there it was; yet another carcass of some poor, unsuspecting fowl that gave its life, its very existence, so that I could stuff my face on its flesh right down to the bone.

This time, however, the ghastly remains turned my stomach.

Oh, I had sworn off the eating of my fellow travelers of our blue-green Earth before. There was that time in college when I went to pick a friend up at his student job in the university’s agriculture unit. I walked in right as he was finishing up.

“Hey, Joe. Be right with you. Last one,” he calmly stated as he placed a rod-like device to some credulous cow’s forehead that sent some horrifying projectile into the poor animal’s brain, thus dropping the beast as casually as one drops off a bag of clothes at the dry cleaners.

“Holy fuck!” I remember blurting out, followed by a series of gagging sounds that lead to my swearing off meat FOREVER!

But, as time wore on, my favorite eatery’s mushroom-Swiss burger called to me and I was back on the red-meat trail.

Then there was the time I went fishing with my dad and had to “clean” (read: gut and scoop out the innards) one of the slimy-silver creatures for the first time. Even at that tender age in that period of barely sentient youth, I was quite sure I would never eat another sea critter ever again. However, that same summer found me reveling in the catching and subsequent boiling of blue crabs. The utter childhood glee I had in holding them under the rolling-hot water until they stopped moving and turned bright red not only proved what a monster in human form I was, but made it okay for me to again show the ocean’s bounty the pathway to my plate whenever the delightful opportunity arose.

Then there was the first time my dad took me duck hunting as a child.

Shot a duck.

The dog brought its limp body back to me.

I cried.

I never hunted again.

I swore I’d NEVER eat duck as long as I lived.

Of course, later in life, during an ouzo-fueled romp through a Greek festival in Tarpon Springs, Florida, I devoured a wonderfully prepared duck at celebrated restaurant and, well, that lifelong pledge to swear off the consumption of the gamy meat quickly fell into the abyss of good intentions.

Now, this very evening, I’m looking down the barrel of a shredded chicken carcass the likes of which there is little to parallel for utter disgust save, perhaps, a hawk sinking its talons into some innocently foraging chipmunk before carrying it off into the air to meet some ghastly fate involving playful disemboweling amidst consuming while still alive.

Okay, perhaps impregnating your mind with that scene for which sponsor Mutual of Omaha would have insisted stay on the Wild Kingdom show’s cutting-room floor is a bit too grisly a fare to pay to make my point. Nevertheless, you get the picture.

It is COMPLETELY disgusting.

Maybe I should go vegetarian or even vegan (vegetarianism’s more militaristic cousin). The health benefits are obvious, but that’s a tough call. It’s like deciding if you’re an Agnostic or a full-bore Atheist.

Anyway, whether or not I take the plant-based plunge, one thing is for certain; I’m now off chicken.

… until I’m not.

 

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.
All photos are © 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio with All Rights Reserved.

JOEKU #3

Haiku with an Absurdist Twist

JOEKU #3: “Ghosts are my Friends”

by Joe Buonfiglio

Looking for Haiku with an Absurdist kick? Welcome to “Joeku™.” Episode #3, “Ghosts are my Friends,” features … well … my ass.

 © 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.
All videos are © 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio with All Rights Reserved.

Remember the Unintentional Martyrs!

by Joe Buonfiglio

IT’S THE PERFECT GIFT!
(And Damned Inexpensive, Too!)

Didn’t quite finish the old underground survivalist’s prepper-bunker before Trump took office and now you have no idea how to ride out the impeding chaos of WWIII? Did you not give your sweetie a worthy Valentine’s Day gift, so the Apocalyptic onslaught of World War Three is the least of your problems?

NEVER FEAR!  Let me turn you on to some downloadable gifts that are fun, won’t break the bank and PERFECT for whiling away the mindless tedium of the endless desert of the post-Trumpian Era dystopia. It’s the music of UNINTENTIONAL MARTYRS™

With song titles such as Porn Pin Blues, Bad Words, Science Denier, Unintentional Martyrs (of course) and the Trumpian delight that started it all, Donny, Donny, Donny, you can delight in an entertaining way to fill the perpetual boredom of the Apocalyptic world (and remember what got us there in the first place).

Listen to them all (click on each song’s “WATCH TRAILER” at the site) and download for ONLY 99¢ each here:

UNINTENTIONALLY MARTYRED MUSIC™

Below are a couple samples from my YouTube Channel:

SCIENCE DENIER:

 

BAD WORDS:

 

Each song is under a buck, so what the fuck!

ENJOY!

© 2016-2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.

All videos, music, lyrics and graphics on the UNINTENTIONALLY MARTYRED MUSIC™ site are © 2016 Unintentional Martyrs™ with All Rights Reserved.

UNINTENTIONALLY MARTYRED MUSIC™

Padded Room for One, Please

DONALD TRUMP AND HIS SUPPORTERS ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY … LITERALLY!

by Joe Buonfiglio

It is with sincere regret that I must inform my friends, family and loved ones et al that I have officially crossed the line from being merely one who sounds as if a madman to an actual card-carrying member of the Padded Room Society … and Donald J. Trump is to blame!

Mostly.

I don’t know how it is that I could have let it get this far. I was always a Liberal-leaning moderate Independent; at least for most of the time since the 1980s when I was making my way through the world as a freelance journalist. Then American politics changed so dramatically, it thus rendered me unto the creature before you now, the foaming-at-the-mouth rabid Far Left insurrectionary banging away at his computer keyboard with literarily seditious intent. I have just lost all perspective; simply put, I have lost my mind. It has gone so far for me that I will no longer even entertain a wisp of a thought of momentarily considering the viewpoints of political adversaries; finding said perspectives so overwhelmingly repugnant. The rise of the racist, homophobic, misogynistic Alt-Right has me spending m kid’s college fund money in order to buy mass quantities of champagne to chill at the ready in the hopes that Trump’s ties to Russia are exposed and Putin has to launch his new “Really Smart Bomb” that only destroys the Trump Administration, the Tea Party, and the white supremacist Alt-Right Ultra-Conservatives, but leaves the rest of us alive to celebrate in a South Dakota that Liberals have turned into the world’s largest beer garden!

Yes, I know that’s a massive run-on sentence; fuck you. Lunatics tend to think in a stream of consciousness, so get used to it.

… or is that Theatre of the Absurd?

FUCK YOU!

See what I mean.

It wasn’t always like this. The fairly consistent sway of the political pendulum in the U.S. saw the governmental volleyball go back and forth between Democrats and Republicans in a manner that was a testament to the world’s most amazing form of self-governance. Americans would almost systematically grow their ire toward whatever party was in power as they gradually fucked things up over time, and then vote to give the other side the same opportunity to build and build and build their case until it fucked things up as well, and the pendulum would swing back again.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

It was a system of gauging comfort levels with incompetency and keeping a balance between Conservative and Liberal, Republican and Democrat that worked wonderfully for decade after decade, century after century.

And then three events occurred that went and fucked everything up, sending me — and America — down the path to madness:

FOX NEWS, CITIZENS UNITED v. FEC, and the election of DONALD J. TRUMP as President of the United States of America.

I’ll never forget the day I was finishing up a news story in the writers’ room of an independent newspaper in Tampa, Florida, when the publisher came in all excited about a conference he had just returned from on “The Future of Journalism.” Seems that the journalistic powers that be were all buzzing about what was then being termed “public journalism” or “advocacy journalism.” It was journalism with a point of view, journalism with a bias, the unholy meld of journalism and public relations … aka propaganda.

Some saw it as an opportunity to not just report, but make a difference. I saw it as the end of the press and its watchdog function. So, I immediately switched from investigative journalism to commentary, commentary to fiction, and ultimately from fiction to Absurdist-humor dark fiction. Because as the Republican-Right promotional machine known as Fox “News” burst onto the scene, it became obvious that the difference between news and entertainment would become negligible at best, so I may as well try to go where the money was.

Watching people gobble up Fox News as if it was “real” journalism, watching “real” news outlets being forced to do the same damn thing on whatever side of the political spectrum they now aligned in order to survive the Fox onslaught, and watching the press itself become an absolute reviled joke began my slide down the slippery slope of insanity. As the American people stopped wanting the press to protect them from abuse by the powerful and the corrupt, stopped wanting the press to inform them so that they could make critical decisions affecting their lives, and merely wanted the “news” to reinforce that which they already believed, I began to descend into madness.

Next, the United States Supreme Court sealed the fate of my mental instability with its decision in the Citizens United case. By the Court’s decision to toss out the ban on corporations making independent expenditures toward and financing the communications of elections, it signaled the death knell of American democracy. It made it so that corporations were to be considered “people, too,” but without any limits on the sums they could spend on elections. In essence, corporations and the billionaires that own them can buy elections. They could buy the country for their own, personal plaything. And somehow, SOMEHOW, the trailer park set and their working-poor comrades think this is a good thing for them.

What. The ever-lovin’. Fuck.

Now, the stage is set. Riding the Tea Party’s coattails, Mr. Donald J. Trump rallies his Army of the Angry Whites, leading the “whitelash” Charge of the White Brigade all the way into the Oval Office with the most hateful “Rise of the Fourth Reich” approach this country has ever seen. The more racist he is, the more they love him. The more homophobic and misogynistic he is, the more they cheer. The more he and his toady Steve Bannon step on the Constitution, the happier his Alt-Right Asylum erupts with glee. He and his All-American Axis of Evil will control all branches of government soon. And even though der Trumpenführer lost the election by nearly 3 million votes, the faulty Electoral College system gave him the White House where he and the no-integrity Republicans continue roll over the— GODDAMN FUCKING RACIST CON MAN BULLSHITTING FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU, YOU PIG-FUCKING SONS A BITCH—

See what I mean? I’m totally off the rails. My trolley has not only slid off the tracks, it’s plummeting down the hillside in a fireball of horror.

There’s no turning back for me. So, just let me know when you’re all ready to start the revolution to overthrow tyranny; I’m sharpening my pitchfork as soon as I’ve finished posted this. See, it’s important to remember that in these times of—

Yes, doctor, I took my pills. No, I’m not hiding them under my tongue again. No. No, stop. STOP! NOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahahaaaaaa….….

 

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.
All photos are © 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio with All Rights Reserved.